


The Most Intimate Case

by AllThingsEnd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Bisexual John Watson, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Porn, Sex, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, gay porn, i have warned you, martin freeman - Freeform, sherlock and john - Freeform, this is basically porn, this is porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThingsEnd/pseuds/AllThingsEnd
Summary: Remember when Sherlock came back with the harpoon, bloodied and annoyed with the cabbies of London? And John watched him writhe with impatience at not having another case that very moment? Yes, well, instead of a case, Sherlock soon finds respite in sex with none other than John Watson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically porn. Smut. Whatever you want to call it. I try to keep it in-character, though lord knows what Sherlock would actually be like in bed. And I know for a fact this is not exactly how a first attempt at homosexual intercourse would go down. But this is here for your amusement, enjoyment, and masturbational inspiration. Do enjoy, and please let me know what you think. Also don't use my excuse not to use condoms. This is not Health class.

Sherlock paced the room, tossing his harpoon between his hands. John sat in his chair with the paper, reading off possible cases, all of which Sherlock brushed off, until suddenly he slammed the butt of his weapon into the floor and let out a scream, which John all but ignored.

"Oh god! John. I need some. Get me some."

"No."

"Get me some."

"No! Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what. Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius will sell you any."

"Stupid idea! Who's idea was that?" Sherlock spat. John cleared his throat in Sherlock's direction. "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock suddenly barked at the door, and then dove into the piles of papers and other such rubbish on the desk in front of him, throwing them behind him in his pursuit.

"Look- Sherlock, you're doing really well, don't give up now!"

"Tell me where they are! Please. Tell me!" And then he straightened up and looked at John and calmed his voice, because people like stupid things like that. "Please."

"Can't help. Sorry."

"...I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers."

John huffed a laugh.

Sherlock sighed. "It was worth a try." And then he dove into the fireplace and resumed his desperate searching. Mrs. Hudson popped in with her usual "yoo-hoo" and thus followed she and Sherlock bickering about Sherlock's unnecessary deductions while brandishing a harpoon. After she slammed the door behind her and Sherlock dropped into his chair, John threw down his paper.

"What the bloody hell was that about?"

"Ah, you don't understand," he rocked back and forth, hugging his knees.

"Go after her, and apologize."

"Apologize? ...Oh, John, I envy you so much."

John worked his jaw, pissed. "You envy me?" He rested his head on his hand in feigned interest. Sherlock threw a series of insults at him - none of them meant to hurt John, of course, but Sherlock is Sherlock - that ended with his shouting:

"I need a case!"

"You've just solved one! By... harpooning a dead big, apparently!" John shouted back.

"Ah, that was this morning!" Sherlock leapt into a more comfortable sitting position. He leaned back deeply into his chair, fingers fluttering against the armrests and bare feet equally unquieted. "When's the next one?"

"Nothing on the website." As much as John water Sherlock to get a grip, he, too, wanted a case.

Sherlock plucked John's laptop off his desk and thrust it into his hands, and they argued about an escaped rabbit and the poor, innocent game Clue.

"The rules are wrong!"

"Sherlock, for god's sake. Find something else to distract yourself! There are things other than cases that have got to shut you up."

"Like what? Reading the papers? Going out for tea? Visiting a museum? BORING!"

John hung his head for a moment in annoyance before looking back up. "Well, what about less normal things? Have you ever gone out on a date?"

"What?"

"You know, when two people that like each other go out and have fun."

"That's what we do, whenever we solve cases."

"Ah, no. Not quite. No, I mean, have you ever gone out with a woman - or man, like we said, everything is fine - and had a nice evening together and then, well, maybe gone back to one of your places?"

"For what? More small-talk? More useless chatter over biscuits and tea?" Sherlock dropped heavily into his chair.

"Well, that's not quite what I meant."

"Why would we go back to one of our places, then?" Sherlock hardly cared, he was again tapping his feet and looking wildly around the room.

"Sherlock..."

"John, you obviously have a question to ask that you probably find awkward, but as you know, 'awkward' does not bother me, so spit it out."

"Have you never had sex?"

This got Sherlock's attention. He stopped shifting about and looked at John.

"Why would I have had sex?"

John froze, his eyebrows up, and blinked across the gap between their chairs. "Why would you have had sex? Are you serious?"

"I don't want a child. And if not for procreation, the only other reasons for having intercourse would be for pleasure. But I prefer the thrill of solving a case to the fleeting euphoria that sex promises, promises which are often not even made good on."

There was a moment's pause, before John leaned back in his chair. "Wow."

"What?"

"You have no idea."

"I have many, actually, John. Dear god, it's like you don't even know me. When aroused, the erect male sex organ enters the-"

"No, no, nope, I am going to stop you right there. I know you know what happens, the actual... what happens... but you have no idea what it is like."

"And that suits me just fine." Sherlock suddenly jolted upright and leaned forward over the carpet "Find me a case!"

John leaned over the carpet, too, shrinking the gap between their faces. "You don't need a bloody case every moment of every day!"

"I need the thrill, John! I need the experience, the blood pumping through my veins, the-"

John suddenly closed the gap between them and pressed his lips into Sherlocks. It lasted less than two seconds, and then he sat back into his chair. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, which were blinking in surprise.

"I, um... I have kissed somebody before, you know, John. So, uh, that, um... Okay."

"A kiss is different if it means something."

"Did that mean something? More than you just trying to shut me up? - and frankly you did surprise me with your method of choice."

"Surprised myself a bit, too, actually." They were now both back in their chairs, looking at each other one more from across the carpet.

"So what is the appeal of sex? Why does it so consume our species?"

"You want me to describe why sex is great to you?"

"More or less, yes. Describe why sex is so 'great' to me."

"Well... god, I don't know."

"John, you've had plenty of sex before with loads of different people-"

"Not loads-"

"-so I trust you can do better than 'I don't know.'"

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Suddenly this was awkward. He had just in fact kissed Sherlock Holmes. It made the whole ordeal even weirder that Sherlock was not the least bit uncomfortable, having fully recovered from his initial shock.

"Well, its like... something new. When that person walks into the room, it changes everything in the air. Even before anything starts to happen. Just them being there helps. And, like I said, kissing, when it means something, is different."

"Different how?"

"Better? It's more than just lips touching. It is a sensation. And add hands-"

"Where?"

"I dunno, in the other person's hair, or around their back, somewhere. And the kiss grows. It gets different."

"Different how?"

"Sherlock I can't bloody well verbalize porn to you if you keep interrupting me!"

"You make it sound so boring, John. This is why I don't need it."

John signed, annoyed. "Alright. I'll do better." He leaned forward a bit in his chair, elbows on his knees. "It is like flying would be like. Nothing matters but right now, and no one matters but you and this other person you are with. And your hearts are beating together; your skin is alive, prickling with excitement; your blood is rushing through you; your mind is simultaneously overloaded and perfectly focused. On now. On them. It is amazing. It feels amazing, and it is even more amazing if it actually means something. Not just doing it to do it. Doing it because you need it. Need it with them. And everything builds, and you know that whatever ecstasy you are in, the person you love is feeling the same way. And you are sharing this moment of thrill and perfection and achievement and wonder, and nobody else in the world but you knows how this feels at this exact moment. You are sharing it with that one person, and nothing else matters. I said that already. But its true. It is at the same time so satisfying, and equally compelling you to never stop. It is everything."

Sherlock was still as a statue in his chair, head cocked slightly, eyes staring at nothing, and for a moment John thought he had got to Sherlock. He had convinced Sherlock that sex was something that even the mysterious Sherlock Holmes would enjoy. Sherlock suddenly looked back at John.

"That is exactly how I would describe working on a case."

"For Christs sake, Sherlock!" John slumped in his chair and stared at the ceiling in disbelief. "Working on a case and having sex are nothing alike!"

"Then why did you describe it like working on a case? And if they really are nothing alike, then why would I want sex?"

"Because sex is different! Sex is... sex is sex, for- I can't believe you!"

"Yes, well. This was fun." Sherlock patted the arms of his chairs before dramatically standing up. "Now I need a case before I-"

John lunged out of his chair and suddenly his lips were pressed into Sherlock's, and his hands were in the small of the taller man's back, pressing them together. Sherlock remains stiff as a board until John drew back a few centimeters. Silence, for a moment.

"John-"

And John kissed him again, this time with even more passion, and after a heartbeat he felt Sherlock's face begin to relax into and even return the kiss. John's upper lip fit perfectly between Sherlock's as the kiss deepened, and then Sherlock's hands were on John's hips. Sherlock inhaled deeply through the nose, and again they parted by a few centimeters.

"I think I might see what you mean now, about meaningful kissing being more than just lips touching."

"Fucking finally" John said in a dangerously low voice, and then the two men went at it, and John's hands danced into Sherlock's hair as Sherlock dipped his head so as to kiss John with as much fury and passion as he could muster, and his hands pulled John's hips into his, then jumped to John's back and pressed their chests together. When they broke for air, Sherlock gasped out,

"Bedroom?"

"Oh, yes," and so they went to break apart, but did not make it very far before John pressed Sherlock into the wall of their hallway, Sherlock grunting as he hit the surface. John attacked Sherlock's long, pale, gorgeous neck with his mouth, between kisses growling words into the flesh, "Do you know... how bloody long... I have wanted to... do this to you?" Sherlock let out an involuntary moan, his delicate fingers twirling through John's hair.

"Yes I do"

"No you don't"

"Okay fine you're right"

John drew back and pulled Sherlock off of the wall, shoving him into the closest bedroom, which happened to be his own. Sherlock stumbled backwards, his purple shirt stretched taut over his chest, buttons straining to keep the fabric together.

"That will have to go," John hissed, nodding to the shirt. Sherlock looked down at it, then back up at John, then began undoing his buttons. "Too slow," John closed the gap between them and ripped open the front of Sherlock's button down, scattering buttons.

"John, that was my favorite shir-"

John silenced him with a furious kiss as he yanked the fabric off of Sherlock's shoulders, until it hung around his waist, held in by the hem tucked into his dress pants. John began fumbling with the buckle of Sherlock's pants.

"John, I-" But Sherlock's sentence dispersed with a gasp as John shoved him hard, and the backs of his knees hit the edge of John's bed and gave way, and suddenly he was looking up at his best friend from the bed. John wasted no time, and soon had his own cardigan and button down off, and then he crawled over Sherlock's body and kissed him again. Sherlock shuddered at the feeling of their bare chests against each other.

"You ever done anything before?"

"What?" Sherlock's mind had apparently shut down almost completely.

"I mean have you ever done anything to yourself?" John asked between kissing Sherlock's cheeks and nose.

"Have I experimented with masturbation? Course I have. For experiments."

"Good. Then I won't have to go too easy."

"What-" but once again Sherlock's words turned to breathy gasps and John's mouth was suddenly on his chest, kissing the sensitive skin, soon sucking at it and even biting it gently. Sherlock's hands were in John's hair again before he knew it, and as John's mouth came level with his belly button, Sherlock felt his hips twitch upward of their own accord. "John-"

"Sherlock-" John sucked at the skin just above Sherlock's waist band. "I am going to undo your trousers now."

"Oh god" was all Sherlock could make out when his trousers were off and his pants had been removed and the moment of fleeting discomfort or embarrassment had passed, and Sherlock lay on his back, naked, on John's bed as John's mouth touched the tip of his erect penis. Sherlock's hands tightened their grip. John, kneeling just off the bed, one hand lightly on Sherlock's waist and the other at the base of his sex organ, began to take more of Sherlock's cock into his mouth, then began to bob his head ever so slightly, his hand working in time with his movements. "Oh god, John-"

John looked up at Sherlock through his eyelashes and lifted his head off. "Different from doing it yourself, isn't it?" He smirked.

"Don't stop..." and so John went back to it. This was not his very first time giving oral to a man, though he was not at all an expert. Still, Sherlock's legs soon wrapped around his shoulders, his thighs gently keeping John in place, and he picked up his pace, and tightened his grip, and he could feel the muscles throughout all of Sherlock's body tensing up. "John, I- oh god- you're-"

John pulled back a moment. "Sherlock, its okay" he mumbled right into the tip of Sherlock's cock, then went back at it. Sherlock's breathing became irregular and erratic, and his hands and legs twitched and his pelvis squirmed beneath John, and before long he was uttering a mixture of moaning and gasping as he came into John's mouth, twitching like mad beneath him.

John slowly pulled off of Sherlock, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Sherlock, whose eyes were closed, chest heaving as his breathing slowly returned to normal. John stood and walked around the bed, and took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table.

"Feel like you just solved a really good case? Maybe even a 10?" Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his head to look at John.

"Maybe an 8."

"Oh, piss!" John giggled, and Sherlock allowed a small smile to cross his lips. "And you know what?" John laid down on the bed next to Sherlock. He still wore his trousers and pants. "That wasn't even the best of it."

"Ah, yes. Actual intercourse. Although intercourse is technically, by definition, the bonding of-"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Fine. But I think I'll need a minute or two."

"Naturally." John stood up and stretched, drank more water, and eventually removed his trousers, but left on his pants. "If you don't mind," he climbed back on to the bed, "I'll just," John leaned down, "you know," and his mouth landed gently on Sherlock's neck, and his lips and his tongue dragged wetness across the pale skin, pausing to suck lightly on it every once in a while. Sherlock's eyes closed again, and as his hands found John's back, John shifted so that he was straddling Sherlock, and tilted his head up with his hands to expose even more soft flesh, and as his kisses turned into bites, he felt Sherlock growing hard again, for they were only separated by the thin fabric of John's pants now. "You want to do this?" John asked into Sherlock's neck.

"Of course I do. For an experime- ow!"

"Shut it or I'll bite you again."

Sherlock grinned. John pulled away and leaned off of Sherlock to reach his bedside table, from the top drawer of which he pulled out a condom and bottle of lube. He sat up, still straddling Sherlock, and held up the condom with raised eyebrows.

"I'm clean," Sherlock promised.

"Brilliant. Me, too." John tossed the condom over his shoulder. Sherlock gave another small smile and what could almost be considered a giggle. John stepped off of the bed and tugged off his pants, trying his best not to think about how he could feel Sherlock's intelligent eyes watching him. Sherlock scooted back, so as to leave more space at the bottom of the bed, and John knelt here, between Sherlock's knees. "This might hurt."

"Of course it will. But I'll be fine."

"You do actually feel pain, you know. You're not invincible."

"Of course I feel pain. I just choose to ignore it."

John rolled his eyes, but flicked open the top of the lube nonetheless. He applied some to Sherlock, who shuddered slightly at the touch. He pressed the tip of his finger to Sherlock's anal opening, and left it there as he crawled up his long, pale body. He put his free hand on the pillow beside Sherlock's head, and he kissed his lips as he pressed his finger deep into the man. Sherlock grimaced, but showed no other signs of discomfort.

"John, this angle is bad for your wrist, you know,"

"Yes, I am a doctor, thank you. But I need to see your face-"

"Wh-" his question drowned away into a moan as John pushed another finger into him, and began moving them in and out of him in small movements. Sherlock's eyebrows knit together and his eyes closed and his mouth opened just enough for John to feel the hot breath on his own lips, and as John thrust in a third finger and began to scissor them and pick up the pace of his movements, Sherlock's mouth twitched and his nose scrunched and his eyelids pressed tighter together as he grimaced at the increased sensation. It was the hottest thing John had ever seen, watching Sherlock's face lose its usual stoic, controlled look.

"This is why I needed to see your face," John whispered fiercely. All of the sudden, he ripped his hand out of Sherlock and grabbed both sides of the man's face, and kissed him with a fiery passion before Sherlock could even moan at the loss of touch. As John's tongue found its way into Sherlock's mouth, ones of his hands raked down Sherlock's body until it landed on his thigh, and with John's urging Sherlock got the idea and he lifted and spread his knees more than they already were. His hand slick with the lube already on Sherlock, he rubbed it up and down his cock, and then, lips still locked with Sherlock's, he pressed his erect penis to Sherlock's opening. As he slowly pushed himself deeper into Sherlock, the detective stopped kissing him back, overcome with sensation, and could simply gasp with his mouth agape, his hands clutching at John's bare back. John's lips hovered a hair's breadth above Sherlock's, their breath mingling, the wet skin of their mouths brushing every once in a while as John rocked back and forth, easing himself deeper into Sherlock. He was almost completely inside when Sherlock let out an involuntary, high-pitched, quiet "ah," and John almost orgasmed at the sight and sound of the usually so surely man lose absolutely all control of himself.

"Sherlock, you beautiful man," John breathed huskily, and as he did so, he was all the way inside of the man beneath him. He gyrated his hips, leaving himself fully sheathed, allowing Sherlock to adjust to the feeling as he himself got used to the erotic bliss of it. Sherlock was hot and tight around him, perfectly laid out beneath him, hair mussed up and body tense. "Relax, Sherlock," John muttered as he drew his hips back, pulling himself out just the slightest bit before reentering completely. He continued this slow, small movement until Sherlock's brows had relaxed and his hands had softened their grip on John's back. Then he drew out even more before pressing back in, and more still, until he finally pulled out completely and this time when he plunged back into Sherlock, he pulled his torso off of him so that he was kneeling, his hands on Sherlock's thighs, and he knew that this was the perfect angle when Sherlock let out an audible gasp and clutched at John's biceps.

"John-"

"Not another word,"

He began to thrust into Sherlock with more and more enthusiasm, and not until then had he realized how much he needed to simply fuck the man. Now it was with every thrust that he hit Sherlock's prostate, and Sherlock's body was rocking back and forth on the bed in time to John's movements, and the only noises louder than that of John's hips hitting Sherlock's ass were the gasps and moans they were both letting out. Obscene, filthy moans that only managed to increase the lust they were both now so filled with.

Without warning, John pulled out of Sherlock, and the detective's eyes flew open in time to see John climb to his knees and grab Sherlock's hips, and he flipped the man so that they were both on their knees, and he pressed a hand into Sherlock's back so that the bent forward, and Sherlock's hands gripped the top of the headboard as he curved his back down, and John did not hesitate before burying himself back into Sherlock's ass. Soon Sherlock's entire body was being thrust back and forth, his forehead pressed into the back of his hands that were gripping the wood enough to whiten his knuckles, and the new angle forced loud pleating out of Sherlock's mouth each time John slammed into him. John's hands were gripping Sherlock's hips and pulling them back onto himself, so that he could not possibly be any deeper inside of the man's body each time he rocked forward.

"John!"

Hearing Sherlock's luscious voice gasping out his name in desperation pushed him to the brink, and he toppled over with a shout of ineffable pleasure, hot and thick and perfect, and his thrusts became erratic, and his shout and his pulsing cock and his cum filling Sherlock urged Sherlock to the edge as well, and his orgasm followed John's by mere moments.

They rode it out together, John's thrusts fading as Sherlock slumped into the pillows and John draped himself over his back. Slowly, he pulled out of Sherlock, both of the twitching at the sensation on their tender flesh. John flopped on to the bed next to Sherlock, on his back, and Sherlock rolled onto his as well. They were both still breathing deeply.

"I," John managed at length, "need to have a shower. Care to join?"

"That would require the ability to stand, one which I lack at this present moment."

John smiled, and giggled, and Sherlock joined him. After a moment, "So, that had to be a 10."

"That, my dear Watson, was on an entirely different scale." They looked at each other and smiled.

"Now people will definitely talk. Because there is no way Ms. Hudson did not hear that."


End file.
